A Reflection of Himself

Chapter Fifty-Two

Harry forcefully numbed himself to everything and everyone around him, resigning himself to his fate - or what he believed would be his fate. At meals, he oftentimes sat there, filling his stomach with food, but not really tasting it. While his friends and classmates talked around him, he heard words here and there, but didn't really listen. As detached as the words were, not forming anything whole or comprehensible, Harry tried to mentally remove himself from every situation as much as possible. While he saw people passing in the corridors between classes and half-watched their expressions as they cast looks of confusion and concern his way, Harry didn't truly see them anymore. He felt like he was always gazing past them, losing himself in the grainy grey of the stones that composed the walls and floors... He was walking in a grey area as of late, everything so unclear, trying to harden his heart. Maybe if he had no attachments to this world, he would not have to feel the penetrating loss that had been niggling at his heart for months, even years, but was now threatening to devour his heart. Stone was not easily swallowed or broken.

One can imagine, then, the nerve it took for Harry's friends to finally approach him and practically demand his attention and his friendship back.

In the first week of February, Hermione purposefully sat down rather sloppily on the couch next to Harry, causing the cushions to move, disturbing Harry's concentration.

"Hey, Harry," she said, trying to keep a smile on her face.

"Hi, Hermione," he replied, not looking up from his book. He reminded slouched over the open tome, his head propped in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm kinda busy right now."

"Please, Harry, just a minute of your time might be advantageous to both you and us. Is that asking too much?" Hermione cast him a pleading look.

Harry sighed. "Imagine that. Hermione would rather I talk than study."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then schooled her expression. "I'm being serious, Harry. You have barely spoken to us in a couple of weeks, and we're worried about you. You did this last year, but- this year... it's worse. You seem so distant, so cold, Harry."

Ron was sitting across from him. "We just wanna talk to you, mate. You've hardly told us what's wrong, but we know what you're trying to do, and we won't let you."

"No, not this time, Harry," Ginny cut in. "You're not going to push away your friends. We won't allow it."

Hearing the determination and finality in Ginny's voice, Harry looked up, scowling. "I know you mean well, guys, but if you get too close to me, you know what could happen. D'you really want to end up like Cedric or Sirius?"

For a while, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione was silent, then Hermione worked up the courage to speak. "Harry, listen. In your fourth year, when... when Cedric died, we were worried sick about you. We felt so helpless, wishing we could be there with you in that terrible time. When you and Cedric were transported by that portkey, we were left there to sit and worry ourselves senseless, wondering if we'd ever see you again. We don't want to have to feel like that again... ever. We've been there with you through so much, Harry, and we're going to continue to be there with you and for you to the end, whatever that might be."

Spoken like a true Gryffindor, thought Ron, admiring Hermione and amazed by her words.

"Case in point, Harry," Ron firmly stated, "we're going with you to that final battle, whether you like it or not."

"There are other people, too, who would help fight," Ginny added, coming to his side. She perched herself on the arm of the couch and wrapped an arm around Harry. "Remember Dumbledore's Army?" She smiled, in hopes that it would ignite a spark in Harry.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I guess I just... have been focusing so much on keeping everyone away that I had forgotten."

"Not forgotten, Harry... just neglected," Hermione pointed out gently. "It's been a couple of months now since you had a meeting. Maybe it's time to get it going again? It'll get your mind off the negative thoughts that have been festering inside you and onto something productive and more positive."

Harry considered it. Hadn't he started the DA his fifth year for the very reason of preparing willing students to improve their fighting and defensive techniques for the second war? He recalled Dumbledore telling him to use his strengths. Was the DA one of those strengths? Realizing the support of his friends was strong and genuine, Harry also knew that he had a strength in his friends. He wanted to admit his foolishness for thinking that he didn't need them and that he could face Voldemort alone, but also, it was not foolishness to want to protect them. That was concern.

"Well, all right," Harry finally agreed, not sounding one hundred percent convinced. "I guess I can't force anyone to stay away from me."

"No, I'm afraid you're stuck with us," Ron joked, lightening the mood some.

For the first time in a while, a smile cracked on Harry's face.

Notifications went out later that day that the next DA meeting was scheduled for the following week. Feeling better than he had in days, Harry lay in bed that night, quietly contemplating what his friends had told him. His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, somewhere lost between the world of waking and sleeping, in a mysterious place full of memories. He realized that, with the exception of his fourth year at Hogwarts, his friends had always been there for him in the times he faced Voldemort. He was not alone.

Just before falling into a peaceful sleep, he remembered the deeply moving and important conversation he had had with Ginny the previous February. It had been a defining moment in their relationship and reinforced the fact that Harry needed his friends by his side.

Harry apprehensively walked over to where Ginny was sitting and took a seat across the table from her. Ginny noticed Harry's presence, but she didn't say anything as she lifted her gaze from the parchment in front of her to Harry's green eyes. Casting a quizzical look in Harry's direction, Ginny eyed him suspiciously.

What does he want?

"Coming here to beg forgiveness?" Ginny retorted sarcastically.

"Er, yes... actually," Harry hesitated.

"Hmph," Ginny muttered. "And why should I forgive you?"

"Ginny," Harry said evenly, "I'm sorry. I really am. What I did... what I said... it was all completely selfish and rude of me. I was acting like a right prat."

"Yeah, I'd say you were," Ginny barked, "but the damage has already been done, Harry, so look, just forget it. Just forget that we ever had anything between us, 'cause, you know, I don't even think we ever really did have anything special. It's obvious that your attention has been elsewhere all year, and Merlin forbid it I should dare get in the way."

Ginny hastily reached for her books and began to pack them into her bag in a fury of emotion. Standing up, intent on returning to her room, where she knew Harry couldn't bother her, Ginny began to stalk away, but Harry was quicker. He blocked the way to the staircase and eyed her shrewdly.

Glaring at Harry, Ginny spat, "What do you want from me, Harry? Please get out of my way!"

"No," Harry replied, keeping his voice steady.

"No? No! Fine, I'll just go to the library, then, if you won't move-"

"Ginny, please," Harry practically pleaded, noticing that the other students in the room were eyeing them curiously. "Can we go someplace where we won't have an audience, at least? There's something I need to tell you, and I'd rather it be away from... well, prying ears and eyes."

"Something to tell me in private?" Ginny whispered, feeling quite sick. "Whatever you're up to, Harry, I'll have no part of it. If it's so important, you can bloody well tell me right here."

"All right, all right," Harry surrendered. "Just... sit down, okay?"

Staring Harry down hard with her brown eyes, Ginny sighed loudly and threw her bag on to the floor. Sitting down in the nearest chair, Ginny said, "Well, out with it, then."

"Ginny, I-" Harry swallowed nervously.

Why is this so difficult?! "I wanted to do something for you that would show you just how much... well, how much you do mean to me, and since we can't exactly go to Hogsmeade or out on the grounds for a picnic with all this snow, I had to think of something else, and, well, here..."

Harry reached into his pocket, his fingers fumbling over the picture as he grasped it, and he hesitantly handed it to Ginny, whose brow knitted in confusion, the anger leaving her face.

"What?" she asked softly. "Harry, I don't understand. I mean, this is a picture of your parents..."

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied, "but look at them. Don't they look happy?"

Ginny nodded. "But what does this have to do with us?"

"Well, everyone's always telling me how much I look like my dad and even act like him in some ways, and then today, as I looked at this picture, I realized how much you and my mum have in common. Ginny, I've been told that my mum was a sweet, beautiful, and strong woman, and in so many ways, you're just like her... all those things that she was. I dunno... maybe it sounds crazy. Hell, I don't even know if I'll live to survive this whole war-"

"Harry..." Ginny said with concern, reaching for his arm.

"Let's not deny it, Ginny," Harry said firmly. "It's a real possibility... but if I do survive, I dunno... I'd like very much one day to be married and have a family, and so, here's hoping. Maybe one day... one day, this might be you and me in a picture."

Tears welled up uncontrollably in Ginny's eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh, Harry!" She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her, taking him by surprise, but a flood of relief rushed over Harry in that instant as he smiled and placed his arms around Ginny.

For a while, they just sat there, locked in each other's embrace. Finally, reluctantly, Ginny loosened her hold just enough so she could pull her head back enough to look Harry in the eyes. Smiling, Ginny said, "You're forgiven."

And forgiven he was again. He smiled, dreaming of Ginny's eyes and soft touch and warm lips.

* * * * *

When students began assembling for the DA meeting, Harry was surprised to see some new faces. Some of the students appeared to be as young as first and second years, and some of them were even from Slytherin. When Draco suddenly floated into the room, he had a rather smug look on his face, and his translucent grey eyes were on the Slytherins.

"Rather impressive, wouldn't you say, Potter?" he asked, gestering toward the Slytherins.

Drawing his eyes away from said students, Harry nodded. "Sure, Malfoy. How, though?"

"You have me to thank for that, Potter," Draco smirked. "I worked a bit of my Slytherin cunning and talked them into checking out your little Dumbledore fan club."

Harry flushed at the choice of words. "It's hardly a fan club," Harry said, annoyed. "But thanks, anyway, Malfoy. It's, uh... good to see them here."

Draco wasn't fully convinced by Harry's usage of the word "good." He thought of pursuing the topic further, drilling Harry about whether or not he thought everyone in Slytherin was a bad seed that would only grow rotten fruit, but he decided to keep his ghostly mouth shut. A little light tormenting of Harry in the middle of that night could always suffice, Draco reckoned.

When it appeared that everyone was gathered, Harry quieted the crowd down, which took a while, as there was much excitement, what with the newcomers and all. Hermione took down the names of the new students, explaining that they wouldn't be full members until the end of the meeting, when they could tell either Harry or her if they wanted to be permanent members. When she explained the seriousness of being a part of the club, some of the youngsters' faces paled with fright.

Next, Harry began instructing them, reviewing some of the things he had previously taught them. When he asked them to choose partners and practice, Harry walked through the room, checking everyone's technique. As he moved throughout the room, he wondered if he might one day teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, even with his potential career of being an Auror. Then again, he didn't want to put Lupin out of a job, assuming that Lupin would still be teaching that post for many years to come, and Harry sincerely hoped he would. Harry idly wondered if Snape would keep applying for the job. He imagined the look on Snape's face when and if he ever applied for the job... and got it.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted, though, when he came upon a pair of first year Slytherins. He watched them shrewdly for a while. The one boy kept messing up, which began to frustrate Harry. Suddenly, anger he hadn't realized he had been harboring surfaced, and he barked at the child, "You're doing it all wrong! Are you that hopeless that you can't even perform a simple blocking spell, you- you Slytherin?!"

Harry stopped himself at the last moment from calling the boy a name much worse, but it didn't matter. The boy's arm dropped to his side, his hand shaking as he tried to keep hold of his wand. He was looking at Harry like most first years regarded Snape when yelled at and degraded for the first time, his lips trembling. Then, he started to cry.

Immediate guilt flooded Harry's heart. He knew he should apologize, but he was too humiliated by his own foolishness to say the words. He, too, shook, but not like this child. He was shaking with rage at himself. He quickly glanced at everyone in the room, noticing that all their eyes were on him.

"Practice's over," he blurted, then turned on his heel and left in a flurry of flying robes and emotion, leaving everyone speechless.

Pacing frantically through the halls, Harry wanted to scream. Didn't those fools realize how grave the present circumstances were? Didn't they know a blasted war was going on? Harry shoved open the front doors, not caring that the fierce winter wind was chilling him to the bone. He trudged through the snow, which was up to his knees, barely feeling the cold wetness as it soaked his shoes and pants. Snowflakes were thrown in his face unmercifully, and Harry found himself laughing sourly at the sheer irony. Life, it seemed, was also throwing nothing but hardships directly in his face, unrelenting.

So much for his short-lived happiness.